A Dreidel in My Stocking
by FreeKiwi
Summary: He's dressed as an elf, Jingle Jammies don't actually jingle, Santa won't stop calling him Hitler, and that obnoxious Jew boy keeps insisting they say 'Happy Holidays.' Demyx didn't know working as a Mall Elf could be so dramatic. Or sexy. -Zemxy-


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story. At all.

_**Warning:**_ Shounen-ai, homosexual relationships, etc, etc.

**Author's Note: **I noticed that a LOT of people are way more into the Zexion x Demyx fandom than the Demyx x Axel fandom. So I decided to educate myself on the pairing AND OH MY GOD I LOVE IT.  
… Ahem. So, I made a little Christmas-y one-shot about them. I didn't want to exclude anyone, so I also added a nice little bit about Chanukah in there. Hooray for religious tolerance!

**Summary:** Demyx is having the worst Christmas ever. He's dressed as an elf, Jingle Jammies _don't_ actually jingle, Santa won't stop calling him Hitler, and that _obnoxious_ Jew Boy keeps insisting they say 'Happy Holidays' instead of 'Merry Christmas.' He never thought working as a Mall Elf could be so dramatic. Or sexy. –Demyx x Zexion-

* * *

A _Dreidel _in My** Stocking**  
•••

•••

By: Freekiwi

**I knew it** was going to be the most horrible, terrible, awful Christmas ever when I showed up at Old Navy at the end of November and two really significant things happened:

1. I went to fill out a job application and they told me they didn't have any. Normally, I would've believed them. Except I had come in last week and they had used the same excuse. I even went to the Old Navy across town and they had said the same thing.

2. I found a pair of Jingle Jammies and to my horror, they _don't_ actually jingle. Not even a little. I shook and shook and shook (and then I got asked to leave) and they never even so much as made one teeny-tiny Christmas-y note.

3. I ran into Axel dressed as Santa and he shoved a hat on my head, strapped some bells to my wrists and ankles, and told me I was now "Santa's bitch."

When I said 'two really significant things happened,' I meant three.

So this is how it happened. This is why I'm standing next to Axel-turned-Santa, dressed as an elf, and pouting over the fact that I didn't get to work at Old Navy. This is why I'm waiting until five o'clock to start handling sticky, screaming, nasty children who, if I'm lucky, urinate on Santa's lap. This is why my arms are crossed, this is why I sound like a tambourine whenever I move, and this is why kids my age and maybe a little younger point at me and laugh.

Clearly jealous. Maybe not.

"Having a job isn't the end of the world," Santa – err, Axel - points out as he fixes his big, white beard, and tries to cover up any of his red hair. Make-up has been put on his face to cover his tattoos and he's wearing a fat suit underneath his Santa getup. I don't know how Axel got a job as a Mall Santa for the holidays. It occurred to me that maybe he had _fucked_ his way into it, but who the hell gives up their dignity for a minimum wage job?

Selling your soul is one thing, but the absence of dignity is something people actually _notice_.

"I'm not pouting about the job," I reply. "I'm still mad about the Jingle Jammies."

"Gay," Axel shifts in his large, throne-like chair. His beard makes it hard for me to tell if he's picking at me or not.

"Look, you'd be embarrassed too if you stood there, _in the children's section_, shaking a pair of pajama pants, hoping they make some noise," I grunt at him.

"Maybe you have to put them on and _then_ they jingle."

I think about this for a moment, but then I look at Santa's – err, Axel's – face and see his eyes have that particular shine to them. That shine that tells me he's trying to get me into more trouble. That playful, dangerous shine that tells me he's trying to get me banned from Old Navy just like he had gotten me banned from Banana Republic.

"I'm not stupid, you know."

Too late. The look has already passed my face. A look that says "Maybe you're right. MAYBE IT'S LIKE MAGIC," and Santa – err, Axel – has seen it. He has seen it and he laughs at me. My pout increases, I keep my arms crossed tightly over my chest, and every move I make only makes me look less serious. _Jingle, jingle, jingle_ – here comes Demyx. Dressed like a faggot elf, being tormented by Santa and hoping Jingle Jammies make some noise.

"Oh, Demy…" Axel reaches out and slaps my behind which causes me to stumble forward slightly and jingle like sleigh bells. "I knew this would be so much more entertaining if you worked here too."

"Santa!"

My arms uncross from my chest and I stand straight. Axel, too, corrects his posture and acts as if he hadn't just smacked me on the rear in front of a group of children all lined up waiting to sit on his lap.

Larxene, the woman who hired Axel and me, is coordinator for the holiday events for the mall. She usually seems really mad or looks murderous and I can't decide if she looks that way just 'cause or if it's Axel and me working here that causes it. She walks up the steps that lead to Axel – err, Santa's – throne and gives him a stare that I imagine she learned from Satan himself.

"Is that really appropriate behavior for Santa?" she asks in a low tone. A tone low enough for only the two of us to hear.

"He's been a naughty elf," Axel winks at her.

Wrong answer.

Larxene leans forward, presses her lips to Axel's ear and whispers, "You're going to go home with one less jingle bell if you don't get your act together."

"But I'll still have my job, right?"

Despite having only worked here for two weeks, I've learned two really, really important things:

1. Santa is a dickhole.

2. Whenever anyone has ignited the wrath of Larxene, it's imperative to NOT make eye-contact with her.

3. Axel isn't afraid to lose one of his balls.

I know I said two really, really important things, but that last one I learned only two seconds ago.

I look down at my feet and try to avoid her gaze. She's giving Axel a look and even though he's pushing her buttons, he's avoiding eye contact with her too. I look away, at the kids in line, at the ceiling, at the photographer who's setting up his equipment…

I make eye contact with him and realize he's not the guy who usually comes in and takes photos. He's someone new. Someone who can manage to be on time, have his equipment set up by five, and not be drunk and/or high when taking photographs. I would say he's cute, but he looks liable to ram a pair of Jingle Jammies down my throat if I even so much as wave at him.

"And you!"

Ah, fuck. I just made eye contact with Larxene.

"Open your mouth!"

I know it sounds like she's yelling, but she's not. That's the most impressive, and probably the scariest, part about Larxene. She has this way of yelling at you without raising her voice. I've seen her "yell" at Axel. She'll be five feet away from me and I can't hear anything she's saying, but her arms are all raised and she's clearly mad.

And of course Axel is pushing her closer to the edge of an untimely stroke by smiling.

"Uh, I, I –"

"What did I tell you about the tongue ring? Do elves have tongue rings, Demyx? Did the elf in _Elf _have a tongue ring? Did the elves in _Santa Clause is Comin' to Town _have tongue rings? Did the elf in _Rudolph _have a tongue ring?"

"W-well no, but he wanted to be a dentist… At least that's in the ballpark."

I see a vein in her head throb.

"You know, I was thinking and… I'll just go and take it out."

Larxene gives one single head nod. I would have run from her, but the embarrassment of jingling loudly when I just _walked_ kept me from doing so.

See what I'm saying about dignity?

* * *

**When I climbed **back onstage, Larxene had disappeared and a humongous line of people had formed all around our setup. The camera guy had finished setting up and it occurred to me that I didn't know his name. He looked pretty closed off. Had a definite "Stay Back 200 Feet" sign hanging around his neck. But they say don't judge a book by its cover, so I didn't and I asked him his name.

"Zexion."

Short and sweet. Okay, so he's all business. That's not a terrible thing. I mean, I know that _sounds like _"don't talk to me, you horrible time-wasting slob of a human being," but I doubt that's how he meant for it to sound. I reciprocate and tell him my name and I don't tell him Santa's name because there are children all around and I can't be screaming about how Santa is actually Axel incognito.

"That's nice."

Okay, okay so he's…. a little sarcastic. That's not so bad. I mean, I know that _sounds like _"shut the fuck up and please stop talking to me," but I doubt that's what he really meant. So I tell him that it must be pretty cool to be working as our new photographer.

"Yes. Spending my evenings with Santa Clause and his…" Zexion turns his attention briefly from the laptop that's hooked up to his camera and eyes me up and down, "jester is exactly how I pictured my career ending up."

_Jester_?

"Elf," I correct.

"Beg pardon?" he responds.

"I'm an elf. Not a jester."

"Oh, excuse me," Zexion says in a way that clearly translates to "go fuck yourself," "I'll credit my daftness to your ungainly stature."

I hear Santa – err, Axel - snicker from beneath his mess of beard and my eyes narrow. I know I've been insulted because Axel rarely laughs at anything that isn't me being tormented, harassed, humiliated, or beaten.

Zexion turns his back to us and bends over to plug in the power cord for his laptop. My eyes narrow, my fists curl, and I make the tiniest jingle bell noises with each display of irritation.

"I can see the humbug you have rammed up your butt from here."

Zexion stands up really quick and his hands go to cover his backside. When he gives me a dirty look from over his shoulder, I can see he's blushing a little bit. Santa – err, Axel – is ho-ho-ho'ing about this.

See what I did there? I checked Zexion out, insulted him, _and_ made Axel laugh.

Two birds, one stone.

Err – three birds, one stone.

* * *

**Lift, set, give, **lift, repeat. Lift, set, give, lift, repeat. Lift, set, give, lift, repeat.

I wish this was more fun. Maybe something like 'disrobe, bend, enter, release, pull out' or even 'unzip, kneel, suck, swallow, re-zip.' It doesn't even have to be sex. I'd even take something like 'strike, kick, beat, mug, run.'

If you're wondering, 'lift, set, give, lift, repeat' is how I remember to do my job. **Lift **the kid, **set **the kid on Santa's lap, **give **the kid candy for screaming/crying/urinating/vomiting on Santa, **lift **the kid off (significantly awful if the kid has managed to pee or vomit), and then **repeat** the whole entire process over until it's nine o'clock at night (or ten o'clock if it's the weekend).

Zexion has been our photographer for two days and he never says anything. He shows up dressed in all black, sets up his equipment, ignores my attempts to be generally friendly and cool, and then leaves as soon as the figurative work bell rings.

I know he's capable of being personable. He has to take pictures of children and then help parents pick out which photos they want, which backgrounds they want, how many photos they want… He's the salesperson for this whole entire ordeal and even though sometimes Larxene is there to help, she's usually busy doing stuff in the mall. Like making sure the choo-choo ride in the Food Court hasn't run over some kid whose been tied to the tracks. Or making sure delinquents like Roxas aren't stealing the Christmas decorations and hiding them in the "intimates" sections of Victoria's Secret or Spencer's.

But the point is that Zexion can be personable! I see him do it all the time.

I give a little girl a candy cane and then lift her off Santa's lap when she's finished describing what she wants for Christmas. I like her because she's one of the few older kids (and by older, I mean like eight) so she didn't pee or vomit or cry and she could string a coherent sentence together. So as she rushes down the steps to go to her mom, I tell her 'Merry Christmas' and Zexion's ban of silence against me is suddenly lifted.

"Happy Holidays," he calls after her.

I look at him. He looks back.

"_Merry Christmas_," I repeat.

His eyes narrow. The little girl who just left Santa's left is standing with her mom and Zexion. The mom looks from me to Zexion and then down at the printer that's currently spitting her pictures out. I wouldn't say she looks uncomfortable. However, we _are_ about to have an all-out war.

"_Happy Holidays_," Zexion glares.

"It's… It's fine," the mom says in an attempt to intervene. "Merry Christmas is fine."

Zexion gives her a look.

"Or… or Happy Holidays! Either one is perfectly fi—"

"Saying Happy Holidays is _stupid_!" I say to him. The next kid in line is at the top of the steps and waiting to sit on Santa's lap. He stands next to him, looking hopeful, but Zexion has crossed the line with all this 'Happy Holidays' business.

"Saying Merry Christmas is offensive!" Zexion retorts.

"To who?" I throw my arms up – _jingle, jingle, jingle _– and indicate to the people around. "The hopeful Jewish boy standing in line to meet Santa?"

"Ho, ho, ho!" Axel interrupts and directs his attention to the little boy standing next to me. "Santa's Helper, why don't you pick up that little boy and bring him over to me?"

"Just a second, Santa." I hold my finger up at him and I can feel the dirty look he's giving me burn into the back of my head.

Zexion picks the woman's pictures up from the printer plate and puts them in an envelope for her. She's already paid him and as soon as she has her pictures, she almost sprints to get away from the ensuing battle.

"It's politically correct to say Happy Holidays," Zexion insists.

"Yea, if you're in a _mixed audience_. Do you say 'Happy Holidays' to all your Jew pals when you guys are lighting up your Menorah?" I cross my arms over my chest and out of my peripheral vision, I see Santa – err, Axel – rub at his face. I swear I also hear him mumble 'Jesus Christ,' but maybe it's someone waiting in line.

"No." Zexion looks really offended. "How dare you call them my 'Jew pals!' You don't even know if I'm Jewish!"

"Oh, okay, my mistake." I roll my eyes. "Do you say it to your black friends when you guys are putting on dashikis and celebrating Kwanza?"

Zexion glares at me and his cheeks are the slightest hint of pink. "That isn't the point! It's just better to say 'Happy Holidays' so you don't offend anyone!"

I take radical action to prove that saying 'Merry Christmas' is perfectly fine in this case. "Is anyone here, aside from our photographer, Jewish? Anyone in this line coming up to see Santa? Anyone?"

Everyone looks around at one another, uncomfortable and unsure, and then someone raises their hand. Just some guy and his little girl. He looks around for some other hand, some other form of support or backing, and then he locks eyes with me and shrugs.

"I am," he says.

Zexion smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. He's all smug because, yea, now we _are_ in mixed company thanks to this Jew guy and his Jew kid. Now it'll be hell to say 'Merry Christmas.' Now Zexion will _insist _on this 'Happy Holidays' nonsense.

Annoyed that Zexion is clearly winning the argument, I point at the guy and his kid. "So why are you coming up to see Santa, huh? If you're Jewish, why don't you go and celebrate Chanukah?"

His eyes narrow, "The dancing Menorah is out of town this weekend, so I thought we'd come and see Santa instead."

Zexion's smirk increases and I open my mouth to argue some more, but Santa – err, Axel – kicks me really, really hard in the leg and I hiss in pain.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Axel stands up as I bend over to rub at my calf. "And that's what Santa does to bad little boys and girls!" He makes a move to pick up the little boy that has been standing next to me the whole time, but the kid screams and runs down the steps and towards his mother. He starts to cry and his mother gives us the dirtiest look I've ever seen before stepping out of the line and walking away.

I look up, lock eyes with Zexion, and mouth to him "dirty Jew."

* * *

**I thought Larxene's **head was going to explode when we saw her after work. We had all been called to her office to discuss what happened after she had over two hundred complaints. Something about religious tolerance, racism, impressionable kids, blahblahblah…

"Demyx!" she yells – actually, really yells this time – and swats me over the head with a rolled up edition of a magazine entitled _Stop the Violence._ "Are you listening? We've had more complaints about you than anyone else!"

Axel chuckles and she glares at him.

"We've had the second most about you! No parent is thrilled that Santa solved the problem with violence!" Larxene shouts.

Man, if looks could kill, everyone in this mall would fall down dead.

"We've had so many people coming by to complain! I thought it couldn't get any worse than last year when Santa vomited all over that little girl and then died! But congratulations! This _is worse_!"

Axel and I exchange a look. How this is worse than Santa falling over and dying in front of a whole group of kids I wasn't sure.

"We have to say 'Happy Holidays' now," Larxene continues. "No more 'Merry Christmas.'"

I open my mouth to protest, but she responds by swatting me with her magazine. "No! I don't want to hear it! You insulted that Jewish man in the audience! Do you know what I had to do to avoid a lawsuit?"

"No, but I imagine it was something pretty sticky…"

Larxene doesn't swat with the magazine this time. She just reels back and punches Axel in the face. And for a girl, she punches pretty damn hard.

Zexion sighs. He's seated a little bit behind us on the couch Larxene has in her office. His legs are crossed, his arms are crossed, and he looks like he wants to just get up and leave.

Axel is glaring daggers at her. He has a nice bruise forming under his right eye.

"Oh, excellent!" Larxene cries as she throws her hands in the air, "Now Santa has a black eye! Could this get any worse?"

"Well… Santa could die."

I was trying to be helpful. Larxene thought differently.

* * *

**I left Larxene's **office sporting a black eye just like Axel. I had changed out of my elf getup and into something much less gay (well, I like to think it's less gay, but let's face it… There's _nothing_ even remotely straight about skinny jeans) and stood at the bus stop. I don't own a car and not because I don't want one.

I just couldn't afford it. Eighteen and not in college means eighteen and no more parental support. Hello Elf Mall job. Hello scary bus stop. Hello crazy boss who hits people who don't know the difference between a rhetorical question and a real one. Figured she would realize there's a reason I'm not in college and the reason isn't exactly laziness.

I sigh in a really, really, really dramatic manner when Zexion walks up and takes a seat on the bench at the bus stop. He doesn't say anything. He just sits there with his equipment. Equipment that's been neatly packed away in a, surprise!, black case.

"Trying to blend in with the night, Jew Boy?" I ask.

"Anti-Semite."

"I am not!" I growl. My tongue ring clacks against my teeth and Zexion gives me this withering look. "This is all your fault, ya know! I was on the _verge_ of hating my job and then you came and _made_ me hate it!"

"Jobs aren't meant to be liked."

His lack of emotion makes me mad. He crosses his legs, put his hands in his lap, and waits patiently for the bus to come. Normally I would've gotten a ride home from Axel, but he and Roxas had dinner plans or something equally gay like that.

"Neither are you," I grumble.

"Beg pardon?" He stares at me as I throw myself down on the bench.

"I said 'neither are you.'"

"Neither am I what?"

"Not meant to be liked," I explain. "You're not meant to be liked either. And do you know why?" I turn to him.

Zexion looks annoyed. "No, please explain it to me. After knowing me for all of two days, I would love to hear your analysis."

"Because I bet being your friend is work! I bet being your… your family or your boyfriend or girlfriend or… or whatever is just like clocking in and clocking out."

Zexion turns away from me and doesn't say anything. We wait in silence as we wait for the bus and I don't know if I feel bad for saying those things to him or if I feel good for saying it. I've only known him for two days and I count that as a blessing. I would age so much faster if I had to deal with Zexion every single day.

* * *

**Work ceases to **get better. Three days _after_ our freak out with the whole 'Happy Holidays' thing, Zexion has said less (which I think is a real feat. How can someone who says nothing say less?). Having to now say 'Happy Holidays' instead of 'Merry Christmas' has taught me two important things:

1. I hate the letter 'H.'

2. People who are like me and want to hear 'Merry Christmas' will give me dirty looks and occasionally argue with me or Santa – err, Axel – about it.

3. I feel my dignity slowly slipping away whenever I have to utter the Phrase-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned.

Did I say two important things? I meant three.

It's eight o'clock and almost the end of work. The line to see Santa always gets less and less after seven o'clock, especially on weekdays. Axel's black eye is covered with make-up and mine isn't. Larxene insisted that parents and children would be happy to know that I "got what I deserved."

She needs to get laid. Or assassinated. Whichever makes her less of a wench.

"So, Hitler – I mean, Demyx." Axel smiles.

I sigh. "Stop calling me Hitler!"

"It was an accident," Axel explains.

"Yea, it was an "accident" the other eight times, too," I grumble.

Axel laughs and I know he's making fun of me. "Teasing" or "good natured ribbing" or whatever other phrases they teach kids in grade school so no one has to deal with bullying. That's all Axel is, all Larxene is. Just bullies.

"Oh, come on, Demy, lighten up." He slaps my butt and no one is around to notice except Zexion. He looks mildly interested, but only briefly. Then he goes right back to reading some humongous book that I know I would never voluntarily read.

"So…" Santa – err, Axel – drops his voice. "What do you think about Zexion?"

I grunt at him.

"You don't even think he's cute?" Axel presses.

"It's hard to find someone like that attractive. Would it even matter? He hates my very existence."

"I can hear you," Zexion calls from his spot that's not even fifteen feet away from us.

I blush and look down at my feet. _Jingle, jingle, jingle_ my bells ring.

* * *

**It's cold at **the bus stop and now it's starting to snow. It's just after work and, once again, here comes Zexion to wait for the bus, too. He looks warm though. He's got on a scarf, a nice, heavy jacket, some gloves, and shoes that aren't sneakers. I eye him and he sees me, so I stop.

He always sits on the bench, legs crossed, hands in his lap, and I stand with my hands shoved in my pockets because I'm Santa's Helper and I can't warrant spending my minimum wage on something like gloves.

I stand there and I shiver. Skinny jeans aren't good for this kind of weather. Sneakers aren't good for this kind of weather. My thin t-shirt, my thin jacket, and my lack of foresight aren't right for the winter season. I breathe out, the air coming out in a little white puff, and I hear Zexion sigh behind me.

"Oh, for God's sake…" He stands, removes his jacket, and then he hands it to me.

I look at him, the jacket, back up at him, and I don't know if this is a trick or not. Maybe he's implanted a bomb in his jacket and he plans to hit the detonator as soon as I –

Jesus fuck, it's cold. I'd be stupid _not_ to take the jacket.

I quickly shove it on and Zexion reclaims his position on the bench. I look at him and start to ask him if he'll be cold, but then I see he has on another jacket. A jacket he had been wearing underneath the one he handed to me. His jacket is cozy. It's black (surprise!) and it's warm and it smells like him. I imagined it would smell like Menorahs, Dreidels, and matzo balls. But it doesn't. It smells like books. It smells like leather. It smells like metal.

I like how it smells. I find it endearing. So I sit down next to him – and by next, I mean nearly on top of him – and he gives me a look. And I know that _looks like _he's trying to say "get away from me. I'm sorry I ever gave you my coat" but he _gave me his coat _because I was _cold_. He likes me. Even if he wants to play mean-eyes with me, it's clear he likes me.

"I didn't know you wore a star."

Zexion reaches up and his fingers touch his necklace. He hurriedly puts it in his shirt and the Star of David quickly disappears from my line of vision.

"It was just a comment."

He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks down both sides of the street and I know what he's hoping for. He's hoping the bus will show up because I'm making him uncomfortable. But I follow the whole "oh, Demy, you dumb S.O.B" and I pretend I'm oblivious to his discomfort.

"Do you celebrate Chanukah?"

No response.

"I celebrate Christmas."

No response.

"Except, you know… I'm not really religious. My parents are Catholic, but I never really dirtied my hands with any of that. I mean, I hope there's something after we die. I'd be pretty bummed if there wasn't." I pause. "Do you decorate your Menorah like I decorate a Christmas tree?"

Zexion gives me a sideways glance, but still doesn't respond.

"So, about the whole Dreidel thing…"

Zexion looks over at me, mouth propped open as if he wants to say something, but then he closes it and looks away again. I wait a good sixty seconds, wait for him to change his mind, but he doesn't, so I continue talking.

"Do you own one? Can I see it? I've never played with a Dreidel before. What's it mean anyway? What do you use it for? How does that whole 'Seven Days of Celebration' work with gifts?"

No response.

I sigh and the air comes out in a little white puff. I lean back into the bench and I glance sideways at Zexion. Our arms are touching, our legs are touching, and he's trying so hard to not look at me. Casually, I spread my legs a little bit and our knees touch.

Zexion moves his crossed legs closer to the end of the bench. He shifts, trying to keep his body from touching mine, but come on – I'm Demyx. The more you resist, the harder I'm going to pursue. You think someone would've told him this by now.

… Then again, maybe not. If Zexion knew what he was getting into when he let me use his coat, he never would've let me have it in the first place. If you give a mouse a cookie…

I move closer to him. He's now all sandwiched against the end of the bench and me and he looks annoyed. I squeeze a liiiittle bit closer, so our bodies completely touch, and then Zexion turns and looks at me. I'm already looking at him and I think it catches him off guard because he looks startled for just a second.

Our faces are close. Zexion uncrosses his legs and glares at me.

"I'm sorry I let you borrow my coat."

"No you're not."

"I am."

"Nope." I put my hands in the pockets of his jacket and look outward. I'm smiling. Zexion looks grumpy. Like a kid who's caught in a game of 'I'm Not Touching You.'

"You stop that."

"Stop what?" I ask.

"Stop messing with me."

"I'm not. I'm just waiting for the bus."

"You don't need to sit this close," Zexion continues. "There's plenty of bench that way." He points to the other end of the bunch and I turn and look.

"Ooh, yea…" I pretend to consider moving. "But then if I move, I won't be sitting here anymore."

Zexion raises his brows at me. I know it _looks like _he's saying "yea, dumbass, that's the point" but he's definitely not. I can tell.

He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm never going to show you any kind of kindness ever again."

"Well, ya know… If you give a mouse a cookie…"

There's a pause between us, but then Zexion looks at me and he's all perplexed. His face is all "what? What are you talking about?" and I'm all "oh, yea, I totally have a third grade reading level. Buh-zing!"

"If you give a mouse a cookie… What?" he asks.

"He'll… want a glass of milk."

Zexion looks at me as if I've gone crazy. He stares at me like I'm the biggest galoot in the world. And then he leans back into the bench, crosses his legs, and folds his hands all neatly in his lap.

* * *

**It's the 15****th**of December and the mall has become ridiculously packed with people trying to Christmas shop. The lines to see Santa on the weekends are long and horrible and so far, we've ended up having to work overtime three times. Ever since Zexion gave me his coat, I've learned two really neat things:

1. Zexion smells nice. He smells like intelligence if… intelligence had a smell.

2. I stare when I have a crush. Full-on, mouth agape, 'DAMN BOY!' staring.

3. Santa – err, Axel – points out my staring on an hourly basis.

I meant three really neat things, not two.

I lift a little boy on Santa's lap and Axel begins the whole 'Ho-ho-ho, and what do you want for Christmas little boy?' when I start staring at Zexion again.

Larxene has now made it _mandatory_ that Zexion wear something _aside_ from black whenever he comes into work. She said something about having complaints and how the whole 'all black' getup wasn't exactly a great match with the holiday cheer and other stuff she's trying to promote.

He looks good in colors. He wears them kind of awkwardly, but he looks good. Cute, I would say. I mean, he's wearing _jeans_ and not his usual black slacks. He usually wears these little black button-up shirts that are all 'I'm snooty' and whatnot, but now he's wearing shirts. They're not like… t-shirts, but they're shirts. Collared shirts that make his gray eyes seem more… blue.

He never wears things that hug his body, but Zexion is…

Nice looking. He has muscle in his arms. He has a nice butt. He looks _especially _good when he wears his pants around his hips. He's wearing a Christmas hat, something he's _not _pleased about, but it makes him seem less… intimidating. Less "I'm going to set you on fire with mind" and more "I'm going to mentally picture you on fire and hope it happens."

"Santa's Helper…"

_God_, Zexion is good looking.

"Ahem – Santa's Helper…"

I hope he's at the bus stop today.

"Santa's Helper!"

Maybe I can convince him to actually talk to me. Maybe I can –

"Ow!"

Santa – err Axel – smacks my backside. It hadn't hurt so much as it had surprised me and 'ow' was the first thing that had come to mind. I blush and tear my gaze away from Zexion.

"Santa's Helper is going to get a lump of coal in his stocking if he doesn't stop uh…" Axel looks at the little boy on his lap, "imagining what it would be like to invade the backside of a snooty castle."

"Ooh, ooh!" The little bounces in Santa's – err, Axel's – lap. "Can I also get a moat around my castle to keep all the weirdos out?"

Axel grins beneath his beard. "Of course! I think our photographer is hoping for the same kind of thing!"

I blush and take a mental note to kick Axel's ass later.

* * *

**Zexion's at **the bus stop before I get there. He sits, as usual, at one end of the bench, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, with his equipment leaning against the side of the bench. It's been snowing a lot lately, but the bench at the bus stop is protected by an overhang.

"Hi."

I sit next to – and by 'next to,' I mean practically on top of – Zexion. I'm still wearing his coat. I had tried to give it back to him numerous times, but he declined. He wouldn't say _why_ or for _how long_ or anything. He would just hold up his hand and shake his head and I wasn't going to push my luck. So long as I had Zexion's coat, he _had_ to talk to me.

"Most people say 'Hi' back."

"Hello, Demyx," he sighs. He's doing it again. The whole 'look the other way and pretend Demyx isn't there' thing.

"Sooo…." I put my hands in the pockets of my – err, his – coat. "I was thinking…."

"A rare occurrence," he interrupts.

"And," I continue, "and I thought that maybe we –"

"No." Zexion turns to look at me. Our faces are close again. "Absolutely not."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" I whine.

"Yes, but I know that tone of yours. That tone means you're going to propose we do something _together_ and I am strictly against doing anything –"

"Fun?" I interrupt.

"—With you," Zexion finishes coldly.

I frown. "Why?"

"Because." His arms cross over his chest and he looks away from me.

"Because why?" I press.

"Because I… I don't want to." Zexion glares and turns to look at me. "Because I don't have to explain myself to a child like you."

"Child?" I glare at him. "I'm not a child! How old are you? You look about twelve."

Zexion's cheeks flare with heat. "I… I do not!" he yells. "If anyone here looks like they're twelve, it's you."

"Me? You're like four foot five!"

The color in Zexion's cheeks darken. "I… I am not! I'm normal height!"

"For a woman."

Zexion's nostrils flare and he shakes his head at me. "You are an imbecile."

"And you'll never be tall enough to ride all the rides at Disney World."

He looks away from me. That whole 'turn the other way and blahblahblah.' Whatever.

I slump down on the bench and frown. The bus comes, thankfully, and we both stand as it pulls up next to the stop. Zexion gets on, his equipment in hand, and I follow after him. We show the driver our passes and then I follow his sigh with my own. The bus is jam-packed with people and there's only one seat left.

We never sit together on the bus. Zexion makes sure of that. But now karma's all "Zex, you douche. Give Dem a chance!" and here we were, sitting next to each other on the bus. Zexion's looking out the window and I stare forward, part of me hoping that our bus breaks down so he'll be stuck with me for another few hours.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Twenty-two."

"Whoa, really?" I look at him and he gives me a cold, hard stare. "I don't know. You just… look really young."

"Thank you?" he frowns. "How old are you?"

"Twelve," I tease and smile, but then immediately stop when I see him roll his eyes and turn his body somewhat so his back is half to me. "Okay, okay! Geez, I was just kidding. I'm eighteen."

"Amazing," he mumbles.

"What is?"

"Just surprised you made it eighteen years. I figured someone as daft as you would have surely managed to accidentally off himself by any means of childish stupidity and tomfoolery."

"That's strange…" I lean back into the bus seat and Zexion gives me a look. A look that says 'what is?' or maybe it says 'I don't care what's strange.' Either is fair game at this point. "My parents said the same thing to me before kicking me out."

Zexion shakes his head and continues looking out the window. We ride in silence for five or ten minutes and it's torture. True torture. I always talk. I talk to anyone about anything, but Zexion is one of those people who despise my existence. One of those people who are all pins and needles.

"Do you celebrate Chanukah?"

Zexion sighs in a way that's waaaay too dramatic. He acts like I just asked him if he prefers giving or receiving blow jobs.

"Yes, Demyx."

"Oh," I shift. "Neat."

"Yes. It's very neat." Zexion reaches up and rubs at his eyes.

"You know, you don't need to be such a butt-face."

The look he gives me rivals any kind of look Larxene could ever even hope to give. I think maybe I see his eye twitch, his lip kind of come up in a snarl, and I feel instantly happy all over again. Seeing him all mad at me is better than seeing him all annoyed and all "go away." Seeing him mad means he cares about me enough to _be_ mad.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Butt-face."

Zexion crosses his legs a little awkwardly and looks away from me. "I'm not going to dignify this childishness by responding."

Remember what I said about dignity? See what it does to you?

"Okay…" I pause and then mumble, "Butt-face."

"Stop it!" He turns to me and I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling. His cheeks are all pink and he's all upset and it's so cute. "Stop calling me that this instant!"

"Stop calling you what?"

I reek of innocence.

"That word! That… that combination of words!"

"Be more specific." I cross my legs and put my hands in my lap the way he does. He sees me mirroring him and quickly untangles his limbs.

"You are the most infuriating human being! You are absolutely juvenile and you work my very last nerve until I have to convince myself that it is _not_ okay to kill simply because someone you know is ann –"

I kiss him.

He won't stop talking, so I make him stop. And it's only a second, maybe two seconds, and then it's over because he pulls away. I know that look on his face _seems like _he's all perplexed and confused, but I promise you – he's not.

He's just trying to figure out why my lips are so soft.

"Don't… Don't do that again."

"Do what?" I tease. My lower lip is caught by my teeth again. I don't want to grin. I don't want him to know that I'm having an absolutely amazing time on the bus.

No response.

"I won't know what to _not_ do again if you don't tell me."

No response.

"Zexion."

No response.

"… Hey, Zex."

No response.

"You Jew boys are really upsetting. It's a good thing you're so good looking or I'd just get up and stand for the rest of the bus ride… Speaking of Jew boys, is that whole circumcision thing mandatory?"

Oooh. I think his eyebrow just twitched. That counts as a response, right?

"Tell me about your Menorah."

Nothing.

"Your Dreidel?"

Nope.

"Okay, okay… I know what you really want…"

Did his eyebrows just rise the slightest bit?

"You want to tell me about your circumcised dick. I'm circumcised too. Maybe we could compare them sometime. Go to your house, my house, wherever and just –"

"Excuse me."

I look up. The woman who's sitting in front of us has turned around and she's giving me a very dirty look. Unfortunately for her, I'm becoming impervious to those.

"What?"

"Could you please stop talking? That boy obviously doesn't want to speak with you and maybe if you tried closing your mouth –"

"If you tried closing your mouth, your income would suffer."

Yea, okay, so I'm a little bit snotty, but it's none of her business. What Zexion and I have - err, don't have - is special. And she should just keep her nose out of our business. And, you know, I'm doing her a favor. She now knows we're both circumcised. She can later masturbate to the image of two really good looking, circumcised boys getting it on. You're welcome, Bus Lady.

"Maybe you want to change your tone."

I roll my eyes. "Or what?"

"Or I'm going to kick your ass."

Some big dude, maybe her beau, grabs a fistful of my clothing and yanks me from my seat. Everyone's attention snaps to this scene. To this HUUUUGE dude holding me close to him, his fist at the ready to punch my face in.

Even Zexion looks mildly interested. But only mildly.

"You know," I laugh nervously and put my hands on his arm – the arm that's holding my clothes, "you're right. That is a fantastic reason to change my tone."

"Apologize to her," he growls.

You know… I really should just say sorry to her. But here's the thing – she butted in on _my_ conversation with _my_ future boyfriend. She was the one eavesdropping and interrupting and being a general menace to society. Why is it my job to apologize? So what if this dude's forearm is bigger than my head? So what if he's six foot two and I'm five foot nine?

"No."

"_No?" _he asks.

"Demyx," I hear Zexion's voice. "For God's sake, just apologize."

"No way! It's the principle of the matter! I refuse to apologize and I refuse to edit myself! This is America! America is the home of the free, the land of the brave! I am practicing my First Commandment –"

"Amendment," Zexion corrects and I don't need to see him to know he's rubbing his face.

"Right! My First Amendment right! Freedom of speech! No censorship! Down with –"

He punches my fucking lights out. So much for freedom of speech.

* * *

**Getting punched sucked**. But I learned two really, really important things.

1. I bleed a lot when I get hit.

2. Unlike most people, a broken nose _does not_ make me look more attractive.

3. Zexion will take me to the hospital and back to his apartment if I get punched by a strange man on the bus.

I meant three things. Not two, three.

"You have a Menorah!"

It's sitting on the coffee table in his living room. It has candles in it, but they're unlit, and near his Menorah, he has a Dreidel. An actual Dreidel. This is pretty exciting for me.

"Demyx…" Zexion sighs as he takes his coat and shoes off. He throws his keys on the kitchen table and watches as I skip through his apartment and grab his Dreidel from where it sits.

"Spin it!" I thrust it at him as soon as he's near enough.

Zexion rubs his face. "Demyx, I need to take you home."

"What? No!" I grip his Dreidel. "I just… I feel so whoozy…" I throw myself dramatically onto his couch and touch the back of my hand to my forehead. "Oh, the light… I see it… It's so bright and inviting…"

Zexion sighs and shakes his head. He sits on the other end of the couch and runs a hand through his hair. Oh, isn't this perfect? I'm stressing him. I'm going to make his hair go prematurely gra -

Well, you know what I mean. _Metaphorically _I'm going to make his hair go prematurely gray.

"Do you realize what a pain in the ass you are?" Zexion asks.

I sit up straight, place his Dreidel carefully next to his Menorah, and frown. The bridge of my nose is covered with a strip of gauze and medical tape. The nasty bruise on my nose feels like it's spreading.

"Yea," I answer honestly.

"Do you think, Demyx? Is the word 'ramification' even in your vocabulary?"

I give him a sideways look.

"'Consequence'! Is the word 'consequence' in your vocabulary?"

"Ooh." I think about this for a moment. "I guess so…"

Zexion shakes his head. "You enraged a complete stranger to the point of striking you on public transit. Do you not see what's wrong with that, Demyx?"

"Nope."

He gives me this horrible look, so I quickly begin backtracking. "No – no, listen! Lemme explain it to you…"

Zexion puts his head in his hands. "Oh, sweet merciful God…"

"That dude on the bus… He hit me, right? And now my nose is all broken and I look really dumb and my bus pass was revoked and all, BUT," I scoot over to Zexion and put a hand on his shoulder. "BUT, because that guy hit me, I got to go home with you! Isn't that awesome how that all worked out?"

"… Why wouldn't you just ask?" Zexion takes his head from his hands. "Why wouldn't you just ask to come home with me?"

I frown. "Because… I don't know you? And you would've said no? Your first impression of me is calling you 'Dirty Jew' and arguing about 'Happy Holidays' and 'Merry Christmas.' Come to think of it, this is sort of funny. I got hit in the face then too."

"You are the only individual I know who actually defines being hit in the face as 'funny.'"

"Well, you know…" I clap him on the back. "If I don't laugh I'll cry."

Zexion cracks a smile.

A real smile too. Not an "oh my god, get the fuck away from me you dumb sack of shit" kind of smile, but a _real _one. And it looks good on him too. So what if the muscles in his face scream whenever he smiles? With enough smiling, his muscles will get used to the movement.

"Sooo…" I grin and then wince at the pain in my face. "Tell me about Chanukah!"

"The anti-Semite wants to know about Chanukah…" Zexion mumbles. "It's a Christmas miracle."

"A _Chanukah _miracle!" I correct.

"Okay, well…" Zexion begins, "Chanukah begins on the 25th day of Kislev which is late November to late December, depending on the year. This year it began on the first of December and it ended on the ninth." He leans forward on the couch and points to his Menorah. "That's the Menorah and even though Chanukah is only eight days, there are nine branches. The ninth one…" Zexion points to the highest branch, "is called the shamash and it's used for light. You're not supposed to light the candles in the other eight branches _except _during the Chanukah celebration."

"What do you guys do after you light a candle?" I ask.

"Well, on the first night of Chanukah you say three blessings and then on the other seven nights you only say the first two. My family would say the blessings after we lit a candle, but some families say it before. It just depends on tradition…" Zexion reaches out and grabs his Dreidel from the table.

"This was my great-grandfather's Dreidel. He was in Nazi Germany during World War II. When he was freed from Buchenwald and reunited with his son, one of the American soldiers gave him this Dreidel."

I pluck it from his hand and examine it closely. "So… his son is your grandfather?"

"Yea." Zexion leans back against his couch and when I turn to glance at him, I realize he's staring at me.

"So how's it work?" He doesn't protest when I scoot close to him – err, on top of him, rather – and I don't protest when he accidentally brushes my hand when taking the Dreidel.

"Well, it's a game," Zexion explains. "Each side means something different. You have Nun, Gimel, Hey, and Shin. Together it means 'A great miracle happened there.' After families light the candles on the Menorah they'll play the Dreidel game."

"Does it end in everyone getting laid?"

Zexion gives me a look and I mumble, "Okay, just kidding. Tell me how you play."

"You know that would be incest," he points out. "Anyway, in my house each player would get ten chocolate coins and then one chocolate coin would go into the pot. Then someone would spin the Dreidel and, depending on which side it landed on, something would happen. Nun means the player takes a coin from the pot, Gimel means the player puts a coin in the pot, Hey means the player gets to take half the pot, and Shin means nothing happens at all. When I got older, my family started playing for money."

"Well let's play." I take the Dreidel from him.

"What?" Zexion looks at me. "You want to play the Dreidel game?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

He eyes me suspiciously. "You don't want to take your pain medicine and call it a night?"

"Ahh, I had almost forgotten my nose was broken until you reminded me," I tease.

Zexion sighs and shakes his head. "You really _are_ as daft as I thought."

"Maybe. But I wanna play with your Dreidel."

Metaphorically and figuratively.

"Fine." Zexion stands and I follow obediently after him. We go into the kitchen and he opens one of the cabinets. On the very top shelf there's a tin of something that he tries to reach. I guess I hadn't realized it before, but Zexion is fairly short. Maybe a little taller than four foot five. But only a little.

I set his Dreidel on the countertop and then walk over to him. I lean over Zexion, grab the tin, and then hand it to him. The look on his face is all "I don't need your help," but then he mutters "thank you" anyway and I pretend to be oblivious to his "I don't need help" expression.

Zexion opens the tin and pulls out a handful of chocolate coins.

"That's ridiculous," I say. "Where do you even buy a whole tin of chocolate coins?"

"Shut up," Zexion grumbles. "You said you wanted to play. Now take your ten coins and take a seat on the floor."

I did what I was told. With his Dreidel in hand and his coins in the other, he takes a seat across from me. One coin is set off to the side – our "pot" – and then our own piles are nearest to us. Zexion hands me the Dreidel and tells me to spin first.

"How come I get to go first?"

He shrugs and, just like with letting me borrow his coat, refuses to acknowledge he's doing something nice for me.

I spin the Dreidel and when it falls, it lands on the 'Nun' side. I take the coin from the pot and grin at him. "Hooray! I'm winning."

Zexion rolls his eyes and picks the Dreidel up from the ground. "Beginner's luck."

He spins it (and he's much better at spinning it than me) and it falls on 'Gimel.' His eyes narrow and he puts one of his coins in the pot.

"Hooray! You're losing!"

"Just spin the damn Dreidel."

Isn't he just the greatest?

* * *

"**This is dumb."**

"You're just saying that 'cause I'm winning."

I know Dreidel spinning has to be all about luck, but that doesn't make me any less smug. I have seventeen chocolate coins, two are in the pot, and Zexion has one coin left. His arms are crossed, his face is sour, and when I spin the Dreidel and it lands on 'Hey,' Zexion sighs as I take a chocolate coin from the pot.

"Hooray!" I smile, "I'm winning! Still!"

"I don't want to play with you anymore."

"Baby."

Zexion gives me a look.

"Okay, okay, fine. Let's make it a little more interesting." I pile the chocolate coins together and set them off to the side. He's giving me a look – one of those perplexed looks that I'm becoming familiar with – and when I remove my belt from my pants, I see his cheeks heat.

"No."

"Yep."

"I'm not going to use my Dreidel to get naked."

"Right. You're not. We're just changing the rules of the game a little."

Zexion's eyes narrow and before he can object, I start explaining, "Look, my belt goes in the pot. We spin the Dreidel and you only take your clothes off if you get Gimel. If you get Nun, you get to put some clothes back on and if you get Hey, you can put _half_ your clothes back on."

"I just lost almost ten chocolate coins to you in twenty minutes. As a scholar, do you really think –"

"A scholar?" I pick up the Dreidel and hand it to him. "Zexy, the word you're looking for is 'photographer.' Now spin."

He hesitates, but then he takes the Dreidel and he spins it and I hear him breathe a sigh of relief when it lands on 'Shin.'

"See? This isn't so bad…" I take the Dreidel and spin it. It falls on 'Gimel' and I go to remove my socks. I see Zexion roll his eyes.

"What?" I pull a sock off. "Socks are clothes. Do they count as one item or two?"

"One."

"Uhuh… Trying to get me naked faster…" I wink. Zexion is somewhere between an eye-roll and a blush.

He picks up the Dreidel and spins it. It spins between us, both of us loom over it, and when it falls on 'Gimel,' Zexion removes his belt.

* * *

**Okay, so I **learned two things…

1. Dreidel spinning really _is_ just luck.

2. Zexion is a sore loser and a smug winner.

3. I'm down to my boxers and I can't seem to land on anything but 'Shin' and 'Gimel.'

Err, three things. Not two.

"This is stupid."

Zexion looks at me. "You're just saying that because you're losing."

"Damn skippy."

I watch him spin the Dreidel and it lands on 'Gimel.' He removes his pants and tosses them into the pot where most of _my_ clothes are. I can't help but eye-rape him just the tiniest bit. He looks cute in just his collared shirt and his black boxers. He looks really good sitting there across from me clearly just waiting to be ravished…

"Close your mouth."

I don't know if he's flirting or just offended, but either way I do what he says.

I take the Dreidel from the floor. I lock eyes with Zexion for just a second before I spin the wooden toy. I watch it as it dances between us. Time kind of stands still for a moment. The Dreidel starts to wobble, it starts coming out of the spin, and I cross my fingers but I'm not even sure what I'm hoping for.

It topples over and falls on 'Gimel.' Zexion looks from the Dreidel to me and when I don't immediately take my boxers off, he raises an eyebrow as if to say 'well?'

I open my mouth, stick my tongue out, and unscrew the top ball of my piercing. I slip it from the hole in my tongue and set it on my pile of clothes. Zexion's face is saying something like "ugh, you bitch."

"That doesn't count!" he argues.

"Does too!" I argue back. "It can be taken off, can't it?"

"But it's not clothes."

"Accessories count!"

Zexion rolls his eyes. "Fine. Have it your way. It's not like your boxers won't be off after your next turn."

"You hope," I tease.

The smallest of smirks graces his lips and he spins the Dreidel to hide it. All that smugness, all that cockiness – it's partially knocked off his face when the Dreidel lands on 'Gimel' and he's forced to take something else off.

I see him reach around his neck and remove his Star of David necklace. I sigh and roll my eyes. I'm _dying_ to see him shirtless.

"Accessories count," he mocks.

"Shush, Jew boy."

The next four turns are awful because we both keep getting Shin. The silence between us is tense. Whenever the Dreidel spins we both hold our breath. Zexion wants to see me naked just as badly as I want to see him _at least_ shirtless.

It's my turn. I pick up the Dreidel and take a deep breath. Zexion is gripping the ends of his boxer shorts and watching with the most serious look I've ever seen. This has ceased to be a fun game between two coworkers and is now something much more intense. I spin the Dreidel. My tongue darts out to wet my lips. Zexion glances at me and then raises his arms in total victory when the Dreidel falls on 'Gimel.'

"Ugh." I lean my head back.

"You lost!" Zexion points at me. "You are the equivalent of a loser! I won! I am the Master of the Dreidel! Master of all Jewish Games and Traditions!" He stands, his arms raised in victory, and I watch with curiosity as he gives his winner's speech. "I, Zexion, have defeated you! Enjoy your humiliation! Your desolation, your shame! Do not walk with your head tall! Bow it in the shame that you will now bring to your later generations! Bow it in the sha –"

He only stops talking because I throw my boxers over his head. And it takes him a second to realize what has happened and when he does, he yanks them away from his line of vision and stares at me.

He clears his throat. His eyes look me up and down. I don't feel so bad for eye-raping him earlier. The way he looks at me is equivalent to a gang-bang. His cheeks are pink and he sort of nervously rubs his arm.

"Uhh, good game."

"Mhm. I'm up here." I point to my face and Zexion is somewhere between embarrassment and denial.

I bend down and pick up my tongue ring. I shove the piece of metal back through the hole and screw the ball back on. He watches with mild interest and when I finish the task, I eye him. He's still holding my boxers. Gripping them like a scared child grips his favorite blanket.

"So are you… Are you a trollop?"

"A what?" I ask

"I, well… What I mean to say is –"

I lean against his countertop and smile at him. I watch his eyes try to look at me without looking _too_ closely. Without wandering _too_ far down.

"You're just naked and I barely know you and –"

"And you're older than me and should know better than to lure boys into your home with Chanukah promises."

Zexion rolls his eyes. "That's not what happened."

"But that's what I'll tell everyone I know," I joke.

Zexion gives me a look. A look that quickly falls to pieces when I walk toward him and brush his mess of hair back from his face. He drops my boxers and places his hands on my hips.

I think he looks better up-close. From far away, he's all hard lines and deadly. But when you get up close, you see his eyes have flecks of blue and green in them. When you get up close, you realize his hair isn't _gray_, it's slate (which is totally different). When you get up close, you see that he isn't all "you're inferior and I hate you," he's more "please hold me."

I cup his cheek and press a kiss to his mouth. It's a sloppy kiss. A nervous, sloppy kiss, but he doesn't seem to mind. His eyes flutter close, his fingers kind of dig into the skin on my sides, and even though it's just a kiss with no tongue, no sucking, nothing but two lips pushed together, it seems to make him nervous.

I break it off, but he just smashes our lips together again. It's rougher this time, needier, and hungrier. His hands travel to my back, I tangle a hand in his mess of hair, and I run my tongue along his upper lip, begging for him to let me in. He obliges and when I go to shove my tongue down his throat, his tongue greets mine and we end up in a wrestling match more deadly than our Dreidel game.

He's got a lot of passion, a lot of heat, for someone so short and so grumpy looking. He's running his nails down my back and I'm pulling at his hair. Our tongues push and touch and fight and then he retreats and I get to explore every inch of his mouth. Every hot, wet inch of his amazing mouth.

Remember when I said he smelled like intelligence if intelligence had a smell?

Well, his mouth is how intelligence would taste if intelligence was tangible and lickable. His mouth has a hard, metallic taste to it (like pennies), but there's a sweet kind of taste after and it's something like honey. It's absolutely intoxicating and I feel all the heat in my face rush to my groin. I feel all the fire burn downward and I grab one of Zexion's hands and place it over my junk.

He immediately pulls away from me and his face is beat red. I grin, he stares, and then he blushes when I raise my brows at him because he's just as guilty as I am. His boxers are just _hiding _his guilt.

"Are you scared because you're a virgin?" I tease.

Zexion's look turns deadly. "I am _not_ a virgin."

My tongue ring clacks against my teeth. "Prove it."

He rises to the challenge (hah pun) and kisses me roughly on the mouth. There's no asking for entrance this time. Now it's just us having a silent argument, a little dispute between our tongues and it's absolutely golden. Our hands are roaming everywhere. We're touching every spare inch of each other and this doesn't feel like some cheap hook-up in a gas station bathroom.

It feels like what happens when people fall in love at first sight.

"I like it," he breathes when our kiss is broken.

"What?" I ask.

"Your piercing. It's kind of gross, but I like it."

I don't know whether to thank him or roll my eyes. I want to dispute his claim about my tongue ring being "gross" but since we started kissing, I learned two things:

1. Don't kill the mood with a guy who might never initiate sex with you ever again.

2. Don't kill the mood _especially_ after he says he _likes_ your tongue ring.

3. Zexion is a really, really, really good kisser.

You know the drill by now. I meant _three_, not _two._ It's the kissing. It's hurting my ability to count.

"Why did you…" His words trail off because I start kissing his neck. My hands grab at his waist, his arms fall neatly around my neck, and I hear the softest of moans leave his lips. I pegged him as someone who wouldn't make noise. I had him figured to be someone who would actually _try_ to _not_ make noise.

"Pierce it?" I breathe. My lips brush over the shell of his ear and I notice it gives him goose bumps. "I wanted to tell my parents I was gay _and_ not going to college. I thought the piercing summed that up nicely."

Zexion gives a little laugh and our eyes lock for a second. We stare at each other and he looks nervous. I bring a hand up to brush some of his thick, slate colored hair from his face and I lean in to kiss his lips for just a moment.

His body is so warm. His hair is so soft. His eyes are vibrant despite their apparent lack of color. His skin is soft and pale and the way he breathes my name leaves me with chills. We stand in his kitchen and we just kiss. It's awesome and addicting and I can't help but smile into our kiss when I feel the tip of his tongue purposefully prod the ball on my piercing.

I pull back and I see him blushing.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "It just… it feels weird."

I smile at him. "I can take it out."

"No!" Zexion blushes deeply and I can't help but notice that he's the cutest thing in the world. He looks all cold, all dangerous, but he's vulnerable just like everyone else. He wants to be loved just like everyone else. He's shy and easily embarrassed just like everyone else.

"You're cute," I tell him.

"Shut up…" He looks away and I slide my hand down to his hips, near the hemline of his shirt.

"You said you didn't wanna use your Dreidel to get naked," I tease.

"_I'm _not naked," he points out.

I frown. That's true. He's _not_ naked. He's not even shirtless. He's just standing there kissing me. I try and figure out how he got me naked before he even took his shirt off, but then I remember the whole Dreidel game had been _my_ idea in the first place.

"You're right," I say as I slide my hands under his shirt. "You should be though."

Zexion reaches down and grasps my wrist. He shakes his head and I stare at him for a second. Surely at 22 he's not _still_ embarrassed of his body. I suppose it _could be _my imagination that makes him look so fucking good in his clothing, but somehow I don't think so.

"What?" I press a brief kiss to his mouth.

"I would just prefer if you didn't."

"Zexy," I whine. "Lemme take your shirt off."

"No, Demyx."

He's all hard lines again. He's all serious. He's all work and no play. I frown and then retract a little bit from him. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at nothing.

"Why not?" I ask. "What do you have to be embarrassed about?"

"I – n-nothing!" he snaps. "I just..."

I don't understand him and I guess the look on my face says so. He sighs and runs a hand nervously through his hair. His eyes dart downward, towards our feet, and then he sort of mumbles something that I don't hear.

"Huh?"

"I don't think it's a good idea," he repeats.

"Taking your shirt off?" I frown at him. "Why?"

"No, I mean… I mean having sex with each other." Zexion looks extremely uncomfortable being forced to say the word 'sex.' I guess his knowledge of it doesn't make him any less of a prude.

"Why?" I ask. "We don't have to do it, ya know."

It feels strange to say that to someone who's older than me. Usually I say it to virgins or boys who are younger than me, but… Well, there's no need to say it to an older guy. He'll just dominate you and then it becomes _his_ job to say it.

"I… I'm aware," he replies. "I don't think it was a good idea to bring you back here. I don't think any of this was a good idea, Demyx."

Now _I'm_ the one looking all perplexed. He's hot one second and cold the next and I can't tell if he actually _really_ thinks this all was a bad idea or if he's just saying that because he's trying to hide himself underneath his clothing. I shrug and retrieve my boxers from the floor. I slide them up my legs and ignore the look of longing that crosses Zexion's face.

"I can go home."

"You don't have to leave."

I shrug. I can't help it. I'm mad and disappointed. And, hey, that's cool. We don't have to do it, but telling me that bringing me home was a bad idea is just… insulting on some level. Like "oh, yea, I thought I liked you but then I realized I don't so… Get out. Now." You know what I mean?

"I'm not a stray cat, ya know."

Zexion watches me slip my jeans over my legs. His guard has seemed to drop a little bit, but he still seems tense. He still seems like he'd feel better if I just disappeared.

"I never suggested you were."

I go to yank my shirt over my head, but Zexion mumbles "wait" so I do. I stand there, my shirt over just my arms, and we make eye contact briefly. And then he breaks it and he's looking me up and down. He's following the curve of my body. He's purposefully checking me out.

And it's hard _not_ to blush and fall insanely in love with him all over again.

… In LIKE with him all over again.

"You're… You're handsome." He clears his throat and leans against his counter top. "For, you know… a boy of your age and stature."

I sigh and smile. "So close to a compliment…" I drop my shirt from my arms and let it fall to the floor. I want to kiss Zexion again, even if he wants me to leave. I want to hold him again, even if he wants me to fall down and die. I walk over to him and cup his cheek. I lean in to kiss him and at first I think he's not going to kiss me back but then he does.

And it's _awesome_.

I'm so glad to just be kissing him, to just be with him, that I'm not upset when we go to bed and we _don't _have sex. I'm not heartbroken when he tells me we shouldn't (not yet). I get to go to bed with Zexion and it's the best thing, and do you know why?

I get to _hold him_ while he sleeps.

* * *

**Here's what I **know about Dec. 23rd:

1. The mall becomes retardedly crowded with people.

2. Zexion and I have spent Dec. 15th-Dec. 22nd together. Er… not at his house, but just together and it's nice.

… Ugh. Finally I manage this whole "two things" and I don't put numbers on the top of my list. Oh well. Numbers suck.

"God, l love him…"

Santa – err, Axel – sighs and rubs at his face. "Yes. I know. Please stop saying that. It's grossing me out."

"Why?" I give him an offended look. It's ten minutes to five and there are so many people here today I know we're going to end up working late.

"Because Zexion is a robot," Axel explains. "And having to imagine the two of you having sex just –"

"Okay, okay." I roll my eyes. "I'll stop saying it if you promise to stop imagining us doing it."

Santa – err, Axel – and I shake on it.

Zexion glances at us and it's only now that I realize maybe he's heard us. His expression is blank though, so I figure he's just glancing to glance. He's wearing his Christmas hat, his Star of David outside his shirt, and I make a mental note to remind him that he's just a walking contradiction.

"So… have you two done anything?" Axel asks from beneath his big white beard.

"We kiss a lot. Which is _awesome_."

I see his jade eyes roll. "Yea. Great. Anything that's not PG-13?"

I cross my arms – _jingle, jingle, jingle _– and I give him a sideways look. "Thought you didn't want to imagine us having sex. Now you're asking for a visual?"

"Smarter by the minute." He hits my lower back, _not_ my butt. "I'm just wondering. It takes you no time to bed someone. Just wondering what the hold-up is."

"I love him."

Axel gives me an eye roll that rivals any eye roll Zexion has ever given me. "Yea, okay. Just get off with him once and see if you still feel the same way."

I blush and give Axel a dirty look. Zexion looks up at us _again_ and I have to wonder if he _can_ hear us and if he plans on saying something about it later. I offer him a little wave when he doesn't immediately look away and heat immediately rushes to my face when he makes it a point to purposefully look away without waving back. As if he's embarrassed or something.

I glare and lean over to say something to Axel, but the first kid is already up the steps and waiting for me to lift, set, give, lift, repeat.

* * *

**It's almost eleven **when I finally manage to get to the employee locker room and strip my elf costume off. I hate working this job. I hate working overtime. I hate parents who won't get the fuck out of line even though it's clear the mall has already closed. I had tried to talk to Zexion while he was packing up his equipment, but he didn't say much back to me. Just mumbling, just grumbling, just shrugging his shoulders…

I don't know what his deal is, but I'm too tired to play detective. I take off my elf hat and throw it into my open locker. I strip my shirt from my body, my brown elf belt, and then I remove my horrible, awful elf shoes and toss it all into the locker. I go to remove the thick, dark green elf leggings and sigh when I realize I've left my stupid bells on. I'm jingling away and I don't even notice it. _Jingle, jingle, jingle, _Demyx is sleepy and looking ridiculous.

I bang my head against my locker and groan. It's late, I'm tired, and I've got this feeling in my chest that's telling me I'm not going to see Zexion again today – err, tonight.

* * *

**It's the last **day at work and almost _no one_ is in line to see Santa. I guess kids think it's pretty futile to tell Santa what you want on Christmas Eve. I guess parents don't really want anything to do with the mall by now. But Axel, Zexion, and I are all in our places, all still doing our thing. It's noon and we all had to come in at eleven because the mall closes at seven tonight.

Because my bus pass was revoked, I have no idea if Zexion was at the bus stop last night. I'm rather upset at him. He hasn't returned any of my texts or calls and he's making it a point to ignore my existence. Axel notices it too and he asks me what happened, but I don't know what to tell him. _Nothing_ happened. Zexion is just… Zexion.

Pushing me toward the edge of an untimely heart attack by tugging my heart strings.

"Man, look at him… I've never seen someone so intent on ignoring someone else."

I cross my arms – _jingle, jingle, jingle _– and scowl at Santa, – err, Axel, - at Zexion, at nothing at all.

"Oh, Santa…"

Roxas walks up the steps, strides right past me, and plops himself down on Santa's – err, Axel's – lap. He wraps his arms around the redhead's neck and tries to place a kiss somewhere that isn't covered by white beard and wig.

"Have you been a good boy?" Axel jokes as he squeezes Roxas close to him. "It's okay if you've been naughty. Santa has a _special_ space on his list for you."

I groan loudly. I sigh dramatically. Zexion looks up, mildly interested, but then immediately goes back to reading his huge, oversized book. Sexless nerd.

"I didn't know Zex worked here."

I'm suddenly interested in what Roxas and Axel are saying. I turn to them and I give Roxas a look. Something that I hope conveys the message "tell me how you know him or I'll cut you."

"Demyx has a crush on him," Santa – err, Axel – explains. I give him a look and he shrugs his shoulders. "He has a boner for him? I don't know what you'd prefer I say."

I sigh and just give up. Santa – err, Axel – has no filter for his mouth.

Roxas laughs. "Don't bother, D," he says. "Zex is _not_ someone you want to be involved with."

"Why?" I drop my voice and then I glance toward Zexion. He doesn't look up from his book, so I look back at Roxas and lean in kind of close to him.

"He's got a _ton_ of emotional baggage."

I frown and then sigh. "I could've told you that, Roxas."

He laughs and then asks, "What happened to your nose?"

I reach up to touch it and feel pain burn down my face. I had completely forgotten it was broken until this moment.

* * *

"**I heard everything** you and Axel said."

I jump almost a mile – _jingle, jingle, jingle _-when I hear Zexion's voice. I'm in the employee locker room changing out of my elf costume and Zexion just snuck up behind me and began talking. I didn't even hear him walk in. And what's worse, I'm standing here in my boxer briefs with my bells still attached to my wrists and my stupid elf hat on my head.

"Jeez, Zexy. You just scared the hell out of me…" I look over my shoulder at him and I worry because he _doesn't _have an expression. He's just standing there with this dead look.

"Demyx, did you hear me? I said I –"

"—Heard everything I and Axel said. Yes, I heard you." I sigh and turn to my locker. I begin riffling through it for pants or my shirt or something, but I can't find my bag with my clothes in it.

"Well… I'm aware that you love me."

I turn to look at him and then I look down at my clothing choice and back up at him. "I really want to have this talk with you, but I'm not dressed to take it seriously."

Zexion's expression – err, non-expression – doesn't change.

I sigh. "Okay, what? What do you want to say? That you don't love me back? Is… Is that why you've been avoiding me? Is that why you're trying to not be my friend anymore?"

His gray eyes look downward, at his feet, my feet, the floor… His equipment is clutched in his hand and he doesn't really say anything.

"You don't _have_ to love me back. It's not a requirement."

Zexion stares. "What?"

I frown and go back to searching my locker for my clothes. "I said you don't have to love me back. I can love you and we can be friends. I'd still like to _kiss_ and everything, but that's just 'cause you're really good at it and –"

I feel his arms wrap around my waist and his cheek presses against my back. He squeezes me to him and I can't help but smile. He's so cute. God, he's so cute…

"Zexy…"

"What?" he mumbles as he nuzzles me.

"You're weird."

He pulls away from me and when I look at him over my shoulder, he's giving me this expression that's saying something like "_I'm_ weird? You're the one wearing boxer briefs, jingle bells, and an elf hat. Faggot." Or, you know, whatever.

"Can we kiss?" I lean in and smile at him.

He answers me by wrapping his arms around my neck and bringing me in for one of the best kisses I've ever experienced. His lips are so soft. I love the way his tongue collides against mine. I love how we both want to break for air, but we don't want to let each other go. I love the way his fingers rake down my back and I love the way he breathes my name whenever I move away from his lips and start kissing down his neck.

I don't know how this all happens exactly, but I've stopped looking for my clothes and, instead, I've pushed Zexion against one of the walls in the employee locker room. My stupid bells are still attached to my wrists and the more we kiss, the more uncomfortable my boxer briefs are becoming. Zexion did me the favor of taking my dumb elf hat off and tossing it to the ground. His fingers tangle in my hair and when we break for air, he says something I don't catch.

"Whazzat?" I slur as I run my thumb along his lower lip.

"Your hair… It's… It's soft. I like it."

I know it doesn't sound like much, but from Zexion it means something. I know it seems like he's just saying "your hair is soft. I like it" but he's actually saying "please keep kissing me, Demy. I need you." Trust me. I know these kinds of things.

We're kissing again and it's just as amazing as always. My hands travel downward to unbutton and unzip his jeans and he doesn't stop me. There's no hesitation, no break in our kissing, and I think he's just happy to be pressed against the wall and me. I think he's just happy to hear me _jingle, jingle, jingle _whenever I try and do something sexual like take his pants off.

Once his pants are undone, I slide my hand into the top of his boxers and grip his erection. Here he breaks our kiss, but just to breathe and then release a small moan when I start stroking him up and down. My bells are jingling, but I don't think he notices anymore. I think he's caught on this, caught on my hand moving up and down his length, caught on my mouth nipping and sucking along his neck.

"Demy…"

I pull away from his neck and look at him. "Demy?" I ask.

Zexion blushes and tries to keep himself from moaning gently. "Y-you call me Zexy…"

"I know." I press a kiss to his jaw line. "I just didn't think you'd brand me as, ya know, yours."

I know he wants to argue, maybe ask how that's branding me as his. I'll have to explain to him later that giving someone your own personal nickname, even if it's a simple one, is a way of dominating. I'm not Demyx. I'm Demy to him. And it's nice. It's a step in the right direction.

I rub my thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the precum against the tip. I nibble the area just below his ear and he says my name, my nickname, his name for me, under his breath. I'm addicted to the way it sounds just like I'm addicted to him.

"N-now," he stumbles through his words. "I want you."

"Here?" I ask. I didn't think Zexion to be the adventurous type. I thought he'd be someone who wasn't exactly fond of PDA. I had him pegged as someone who wouldn't just say no to something like this, but _hell no_.

"Yea," he breathes. "Here. Now. Please."

It'd be a _sin _to say no. Besides, neither of us can get fired. It's the last day on the job.

Zexion turns to face the wall and I yank his pants and boxers down. He gives me a look over his shoulder, something that says "hey, easy," but I just press a little sideways kiss to his mouth and let him know that I _know_ what I'm doing. Maybe he's a little skeptical, but I know where everything goes.

"Hey, what about lu –"

"Check my equipment case."

I pause and I can't help but grin and then laugh a little to myself. I walk a few feet over to his case and open it up and, sure enough, there's a small package of lube that's _coincidentally _there. I pick it up, close his case, and walk back over to him with the biggest smirk on my face.

"Pervert," I tease.

"I like to think of myself as prepared."

"You like to think you're getting laid enough to warrant strategically placing lube in your equipment case."

I don't need to see Zexion's face to know he's smiling. "Using big boy words like 'warrant' and 'strategically.' Good for you, Demy."

I tangle my hand in his hair and give his head a yank back. My lips brush his ear and I playfully tell him, "Remember who's in charge here." I see goose bumps line his legs, his lower back, and bottom. He's so fucking adorable. I'm so in love with him.

I tear open the package of lubricant with my mouth and squeeze a little bit onto the palm on my hand. My other hand works my erection out of my boxer briefs.

"Hey." Zexion glances at me from over his shoulder. "Just do it."

"Huh?" I coat my hand in the slippery substance and glance up at him. "No prep? And you were calling me a whore?"

Zexion rolls his eyes. "Shut up. I like it better this way."

"Oh, so you're just a glutton for punishment," I tease as I run my hand up and down my own erection, coating it with lubricant and relishing in the sensation.

"Yea, actually…" he says. "I think I am."

I position myself at his entrance and we both take a deep breath. I slip the opened pack of lube into the pocket of Zexion's jacket and place both my hands on his hips. His hands are against the wall, spread out and flat, and he looks like a guy who's about to have a full cavity search. Except this'll be, hopefully, nicer than a cavity search.

"Ready?" I breathe into his ear.

"Yea."

I push myself into Zexion and the heat, how tight he is, how slick the lubricant makes everything… It's almost overwhelming and it takes me a second to push more of myself in. He feels so good around me, so amazing and so _perfect_, I actually have trouble starting the task at hand. I want to appreciate this pleasure. I want to burn this moment into my memory. I never want to forget this.

"Ah…" Zexion shudders when I'm halfway in. I'm scared I'm hurting him, but I remind myself he's twenty-two and he knows the drill. He'd tell me to stop if it hurt. He'd actually probably kick me or something if he wanted me to know.

I loosen my grip on his hips because I'm scared I'll leave bruises, but then I hear him breathe "no, keep squeezing…" so I do. Because Zexion was being serious; he _is_ a glutton for punishment.

Once I'm buried all the way inside him, I _have_ to take a moment to savor how good this feels. I have to take just a couple seconds to truly enjoy how tight he is, how hot this is, how deep I'm in… My nails dig into his hips and he moans when I move just the slightest bit out and then push right back in. His fingers curl against the wall as if he's trying to grip something. I start a slow, steady rhythm and when he tells me to go faster, I do.

How can I not oblige him? He looks good like this. He looks good against the wall. I bet he was fun when he was a kid. I bet he was wild and crazy and…

I moan and press my forehead against his shoulder. I'm pushing in and out of him and it occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I had sex. That's kind of a painful thought during this moment of pure bliss, but it's something that crosses my mind and it only makes me appreciate Zexion and his gluttony even more.

I move hard and fast. My rhythm is steady, but quick and each pump into him is sending me closer and closer to the edge. I hear him panting. I hear his lips breathe my name in that awesome, amazing sensual way. I see sweat has collected in beads on his forehead and his eyes are closed tight. I move one of my hands form his hip and it travels slightly over and down to his erection. I begin to stroke him in time with my thrusts and I thank God I've studied music all these years.

I mean, hey – I can't get a job, but I'm _so good_ at multitasking when it comes to sex.

"Demy…" Zexion moans and the sound of his voice is sending me closer and closer to my threshold. The way he says it, the way his wet lips part and the way my name rolls off his tongue. It sounds so good. My name has _never_ sounded so good before. But leave it to Zexion to make it sound like perfection. To make _me_ sound like perfection.

I take a shuddering breath and push roughly into him. My hand is still stroking him up and down and my other hand travels upward. I place my left hand over his and he uncurls his fingers on the wall. I intertwine our fingers, a bit awkwardly, and it seems to make this moment all the more special. It's sex and it's in public and this is technically exhibitionism in its lowest form, but there's still something special about this.

"Zexy…" I grip his hand and push in and out of him. He's close and so am I and I know it isn't going to take much more for us to reach our point of bliss. I know that in a few more thrusts he's going to be there and then I'll follow.

I press my lips to his neck and his moans become closer together as he reaches his peak. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, his body tenses, and with a few more strokes and a few more thrusts, I feel him orgasm all over my hand. His muscles clamp down on me and that's it – game over. White flag. I've reached my release and it's the most amazing, most wonderful thing in the world. I have no way to describe it.

I just know it makes me see spots and when it's over, I _don't_ want to pull out even though I know I have to.

"Fuck…" Zexion swears.

"Are you okay?" I press my forehead to his shoulder and take a few deep breathes.

"Yea," he breathes. "Jesus, Demy…"

I look up and press a sloppy kiss to his jaw line. "I know, right? We could've been doing _this_ for the past week."

Zexion rolls his eyes. "Pull out."

I make a noise, something like a groan, but I do what he says and then I tuck myself back into my boxer briefs. I'm sticky and uncomfortable and I watch Zexion yank up his boxers and pants and button and zip them as if nothing happened.

"I need a shower." He squirms.

I grin. "What a coincidence. Me too…" I wrap my arms around him and press warm kisses to his face. He likes it. He likes the attention I shower him with. He likes knowing he's the only boy – err, man – in my world.

"Hey, can I say it?" I ask him.

Zexion presses a small kiss to my mouth and before I can say anything, he says, "No. Let me do it."

And I'm just absolutely _enthralled _when Zexion says "I love you too, Demy."

* * *

"**Happy Chanukah."**

Zexion rubs at his tired eyes and smiles when he sees me above him. He sits up in bed, presses a kiss to my mouth, and then raises a brow when his mind processes what I've just said. "It's December 25th. Chanukah was –"

"I know, December first to the ninth… I just thought it'd be inappropriate to tell my Jew Boy Merry Christmas." I press kisses to his shoulders and neck and he doesn't complain. He loves this.

"Your Jew Boy?" He sounds amused.

"Sorry," I say. "My Zexion. I just thought it'd be inappropriate to tell my Zexion Merry Christmas." I press a kiss to his cheek and his Star of David necklace hangs off my neck and touches his shoulder.

Zexion gives me a look when he notices and I just shrug at him.

"I hope none of the Jew rubs off on me," I joke.

"For God's sake, Demy…" He smiles at me and shakes his head. "I'm dating an anti-Semite."

The word 'anti-Semite' doesn't even cross my mind because the word 'dating' comes right before it. I grin at him and I crawl into his lap (which is ridiculous because I'm way taller and he's way smaller than me) and press kisses to the top of his head.

"So you're my Jew Boyfriend?" I tangle my hands in his hair and pull at his slate colored locks.

"Your Dirty Jew actually," he teases and smiles, but he stops when I pull his hair lightly.

"You're cruising for a shellacking," I tell him. "That's Jew for 'bruising.'"

Zexion rolls his eyes and shoves me off his lap. He takes my disorientation as his moment to crawl on top of me and dominate me. He sits just above my groin, on my hips, and he runs his hands all along my chest. He fingers his Star of David necklace and I smile goofily up at him.

"If you give a mouse a cookie…" I tease.

"He'll want a glass of milk. I've heard."

I sit up slightly and press a quick kiss to his mouth. "Happy Holidays, Zexy."

"Merry Christmas, Demy."

* * *

**A/N: **ARGH. I've been working on this for two weeks. This is the longest one-shot I've ever written. Congratulations to you if you've managed your way to the end. I'm hoping the humor or the anticipation of Zemyx sex keeps people hooked.

I bet I've offended someone. No, I'm not an anti-Semite. I just think Zexion makes a good Jewish guy and I think Demyx makes a cute fake-anti-Semite. Also, I'm thinking about writing a sequel (or something like that) to go along with this one. I really like the pairing and I want to play with it more.

**Thank you ****Aindel S. Druida**** for beta-editing this. Thank you for catching all those teeny mistakes I would catch later and hate myself for. You're the greatest.  
Please take time to view some of Aindel S. Druida's work. Her stories are extremely well written and great if you need a break from the mind-numbing "they get naked. Then they do it. The end" kind of thing.**

Anyway, Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. Please be good and review. Santa is nothing like Axel and the naughty list is somewhere you don't want to be.

Have a great holiday.


End file.
